


Precise

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [228]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Caring Sherlock, Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, unwelcome anniversary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 03:37:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7418287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>precise: adjective: prəˈsīs: marked by exactness and accuracy of expression or detail.</p><p>late Middle English: from Old French prescis, from Latin praecis- ‘cut short,’ from the verb praecidere, from prae ‘in advance’ + caedere ‘to cut.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Precise

John looked down at the sleep rumpled man quietly snoring against his shoulder, and thought back to when his life was....hmm...what was the word? Precise? Perhaps to the brilliant, caffeine and puzzle driven man who had become his life it had been dull, predictable, a bit mind-numbingly boring at times, but it had made sense to him at the time.

He had been a surgeon first, then a soldier - always had his kit set up in the same way, even, perhaps, especially on his tours of duty, he was a stickler, every one knew it, how he was. His hair, his uniform and shoes were to exact standards, he even managed to be sand free, in the fucking desert, somehow. He went by the book, in everything, how he walked, slept, ate....until. Until that day when it all went to hell, and nothing was ever the same.

Suddenly his ordered and uncomplicated life became anything but, the things that were once simple for him became nearly impossible; he had to replace his now unnecessarily regulation boots with loafers because he could no longer easily tie his own shoes. It had taken months of rehab to relearn how to shave, using his non-dominant hand, because the tremor in his left wouldn't stop. He could no longer afford his twice monthly trips to his barber, though he knew the man would have done it for free, he couldn't swallow his pride enough to ask.

It took a chance meeting, a coincidence, though even mere thought of it made the man next to him open one rather annoyed eye and mutter, "John, the universe is -

"rarely so lazy, yes, so you've said. Go back to sleep, love."

"Hard to sleep with all the thinking going on, and people call me a drama queen." Sherlock propped himself up on his side and sighed. "Damn, it's - "

"Yeah. I can't block it out - every year, it should be easier by now -"

"Shh, let me help. Let me, John, please."

John nodded as Sherlock kissed him sweetly, then kissed each hand in turn; his right, then his left. "These hands have saved so many lives, including my own, countless times, not just that first time, but each time you make me tea, or toast, or calm my thoughts by running them through my hair, or touching me - yes, exactly like - John -"

"Sherlock, please?"

Sherlock laid his body over John's; pressing him into the mattress and laying still until he felt their breathing synchronize and knew John was ready. He reached under his pillow for the lube, slicked up his dextrous fingers, then searched John's blown eyes and nodded. John took a deep breath and let Sherlock in, allowing him to shut down the pain, humiliations and despair that overtook him once a year.

"I need -"

"I know, I'm here, I'm not letting you go, I'm here, John, do you feel me?"

"God - yes. Yes, please -"

Sherlock took his time, as they silently made love until John whimpered his release and the man above him followed. They spent the day barely moving or speaking; Sherlock never left John's side.

 

"Tea is on the table, I have a double shift. I love you."

Sherlock blinked against the sunrise and placed one exact kiss on John's lips and murmured, "I love you, too. I'll bring you dinner at 7?"

John nodded and opened his mouth to say something more, but changed his mind, kissing his love's unruly mop of hair instead, and quietly left their bedroom, slipped into his shoes and made his way out into the chaos of the world.


End file.
